You
by taylorgoesrawr
Summary: Freddie Benson's like the carton of cigarettes sitting oh so innocently at your feet.


**Hello readers! I am so stoked to be writing a Sam/Freddie, or Seddie, fic. I don't believe I've ever written one before but honestly, I wouldn't remember anyway because I've written way too many stories that never made it up on this site to be able to count. Anyway though, I got this idea while at school, believe it or not. It just came out of nowhere and smacked me between the eyes, pretty much, and I ended up writing most of it down on my iPod. I really liked how it turned out despite the fact that I had no idea how to end it so I hope you guys like it and review, yeah? P.S. Anybody stoked for iOMG? I am! **

**_Disclaimer_: ICarly is not mine and never will be, nor are Sam and Freddie my creations. This story is, however, all mine so if you steal it I'll have no choice but to whoop yo ass, got it? Good. **

* * *

He's almost comparable to those cigarettes that you've become accustomed to smoking lately; you're constantly putting him out. You like to extinguish the spark that lights up his beautiful brown eyes because it's a routine now and you're a creature of habit. On the other hand though, he's as stubborn as you are and isn't one to walk away, so that throws you both into a state of limbo. He wants answers that you won't give him and so he decides to stick around, but you shy away from his prying eyes every night behind the smoke that you're currently breathing into your lungs. It's your escape, something that you wish he could be.

As the chemicals you've inhaled start to make your chest ache, you exhale the smoke out through your nose. Your ice blue eyes flit downward, your face void of emotion, to look at the cigarette you're holding between your fingers. Nobody _really_ knows why you continue on with this nasty habit you've developed even though they constantly tell you that they understand. "I'm just stressed," you tell them. You're looking for excuses but nobody dares to point it out. Nobody wants to be the victim of your wrath and it doesn't matter because you like it better that way. "It's just to calm me down," you reassure them, but what they don't know is that _he_ can calm you down faster and more effectively than any paper stick stuffed with tobacco ever could. You'd sooner kill your lungs than ever admit that though.

And besides, you tell yourself as your blond hair curls around you in the wind, he has someone so much _better_, so much _sweeter_, and evidently _everything that you're not_ waiting for him patiently on the sidelines. That girl he talks about is everything he ever thought he wanted, but that much is obvious. You can see it plain as day, hiding in the crevices of his smile every time he says her name; _Carly. _She's your best friend, but you don't think that it's possible to hate the sound of her name any more than you do when _he _says it. So you get angry because it's the only emotion that you really _know_ and you do what Sam Puckett does best – you use your strength.

You inflict pain on him; excruciating amounts of pain. You hit, kick, push, scratch, bite, and stab; you like being physical when it comes to hurting him because manipulating his feelings is just _too easy_ and was never really your thing anyway. Besides, you like the way that he screams when you attack him; you like the way that his whole persona comes _alive _when you challenge him. You've noticed that he's especially vibrant when he's yelling but it's only when he's yelling at you that a fire ignites in his brown eyes. You've seen that same fire start at the mention of _her_ name though and in those instances, those flames become the enemy and you see it to be your mission to douse them as soon as possible. "There's no reason to give the boy false hope." You say, but you know that those are lies and that they're barely escaping through the spaces between your clenched teeth.

Speaking of lying, you've lied to him more times than you can possibly ever count within the past few years but you _really_ like the fact that despite all the bullshit you've put him through, he comes back anyway. What you don't know, however, is that even though being around you hurts him and often leaves him bruised for days, you're his favorite kind of pain to endure and so he does it with little to say on the manner unless you've provoked him into fighting back. Despite the fact that neither of you _truly _understand it, he obviously subconsciously sees something in you if he's still around while he has his dream girl waiting off in the wings for him and if there's one thing you can't help but do, it's to use him over and over again because of it.

Freddie Benson's like the carton of cigarettes sitting oh so innocently at your feet; you're slowly burning away any chance you have at him looking at you as a _serious option_, inadvertently turning him away in spite of yourself. You don't know how else to act though, so every day you'll continue letting him unknowingly clog your senses before you push him away and every night you'll retreat back to the cigarettes that have become a source of comfort to your damaged soul. Because admit it, you're addicted to him.

It's just too bad that he's addicted to someone else.


End file.
